


BFB.

by BRlANSMAY



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Cheating, Eventual Smut, F/M, Pining, boyfriend thievery, childhood friend turned enemies, deacury... but only if you squint, idk tags as i go i guess, roughly historically accurate?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-12-18 04:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18242279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BRlANSMAY/pseuds/BRlANSMAY
Summary: Friends since childhood, nothing can separate lifelong best friends Chrissy and Morgan, but will their friendship survive Chrissy falling for her best friend's boyfriend?ORthis ... is a big fat reupload of a fic I got halfway through, deleted cause I hated it and then got convinced to try and redo (thank you miss anneke)





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> welcome back to BFB! if you read the first edition of the fic, thanks for coming back! The story will essentially, be the same, but I'm gonna add in a few things, take a few things out, try and fill in some of what I thought were obvious blanks. Enjoy!

***

“ **Chrissy.** ”

 

One blue eye flutters open and the other, sleep filled gaze slowly surveilling the cinderblock room before closing again. Silence follows which, essentially, means one thing: she had to get up. Sighing, limbs slowly move toward the edge of the bed; Chrissy Mullen, unfortunately, was awake. She files out of bed and toward the cracked door, lighting in the hallway nearly blinding her as she follows the insistent call of her name.Just outside of the bathroom stands her roommate, and friend since grade school, Morgan Hayes in all her glory. Her green eyes, cloaked in a golden eyeshadow and lined heavily with kohl liner, shine playfully as she steps aside to reveal a stool stat before one of the various sinks. Chrissy  _ loathed  _ living in the dorms; she and Morgan could have lived off campus and survived just fine. The lack of true privacy, multicolored snarls of hair in every shower drain, the  _ stench _ ? Chrissy was over it all.

 

“Mo, what is all this?”

 

Chrissy sighs as she’s navigated to the stool, petite fingers pressing on her shoulders in an attempt to make her sit. Blue eyes stare tiredly at her reflection, and how bland and colorless she looked next to Morgan. Morgan, with her pear shaped body, flawless ochre brown skin, head adorned with thick corkscrews of deep, auburn hair. Honestly, Chrissy had a hard time believing she was even real. As fingers gently scratch her scalp. Chrissy finds herself groaning quietly and relaxing back into the comfort of her friend.

 

“We’ve gotta get you ready,” Morgan explains, matte pink lips twisting into a devious grind. “Places to be, people do to; it’s Friday night and I absolutely refuse to let you stay alone in our dorm.” The pause that follows only tighten the coil in her stomach. “Plus, you can finally meet Brian.”

 

_ Queen _ , formerly  _ Smile _ , was at campus again; Chrissy only knew what Morgan had told her about them, which  _ really  _ wasn’t much. An ideal Friday evening would be sleeping well in Saturday afternoon, but maybe Morgan was right - maybe some time outside of the dorm would do her good. Shrugging, Chrissy relaxes, as much as she can, as Morgan begins the process of beautifying her. Once flat brown hair now rests in voluminous curls around her round face, slimming her down. Pale cheeks, now painted with blush, pull into a smile as Chrissy leans forward to observe the shimmering blue eyeshadow skillfully packed onto her eyelids. 

 

“Now, for the outfit.”

 

Before she can speak, Chrissy finds herself stumbling to her feet, trying to awkwardly sandwich herself into the dress that seemed to be a size too small. With a deep plunge in the front, Chrissy felt awkward and exposed. Her hands move to cover her chest with a frustrated huff.

 

“This isn’t exactly my speed, Morgan. This is more your speed. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, cause I’m not, but”

 

“But nothing. You have to wear it; you’ll be the hottest one there tonight! Only second to me, of course.”

 

Humor is meant to ease a heavy conversation, but Chrissy hardly feels amused. She turns to her reflection once again, hands lowered as she twists her body in hopes of examining herself from every possible angle. She  _ felt  _ pretty, prettier than she normally did, but next to Morgan? Second, as always. Where Morgan radiated beauty and confidence, Chrissy felt as if she tried too hard. Maybe she did. Without much more conversation, she’s all but grabbed Chrissy by the ear and pulled her down the main staircase and into the brisk autumn air. Even with a coat, Chrissy feels as if her legs were bound to freeze and it leaves the older woman wondering how Morgan regularly went out with one. 

 

“Are they going on first?”

 

“No, some other little band is playing first, and then them. Can you believe it? They’re  _ headlining! _ ”

 

As they continue to walk, Chrissy only partially understands why that’s such a big deal. 

 

***

 

The pub is  _ annoyingly  _ crowded, packed wall to wall; anxiety ripples through Chrissy’s chest as Morgan elbows her way through the tight-knit crowed to get them as close to the stage as she can manage, which was the exact front. Eyes nervously dart and Chrissy takes her coat off, hanging it over one arm and securing her clutch in the other. Too many bad things happened in bars and she would much rather be back in their dorm, getting ready for exams they both had to take in a month. Yet, there she is, ever the supportive friend.

 

“Aren’t you excited?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh, fuck off. You’re practically vibrating.”

 

Okay  _ maybe  _ so. The tiniest shred of excitement of excitement jolts through her veins, and she can’t help but smile when the band finally takes their places on the stage. While this was Morgan’s countless time seeing them; she’s been familiar with them when they were still Smile, when Tim was around, and when Morganfirst started dating Brian, but Chrissy pales in comparison. Nearly deafened by the thundering sound of the drum, Chrissy finds herself struggling to understand Morgan’s attempt to listen each band member.. Commanding the stage was Freddie and  _ god _ , was he enchanting. His shoulder-length hair reminds her of Morgans: dark, a little curly and flowing. She can’t say much toward his outfit, but she’s entirely captured by him, and with the tingling sensation that hugged her spine every time his eyes met hers.. To the immediate left was bassist John, hair twice as long as Freddie’s; even Chrissy’s and she feels a little twang of jealousy. He was adorable, in that shy young boy kind of way. She was vaguely familiar with the drummer, Roger, but for how often Morgan talks about him. Morgan  _ claims  _ she had a fling with him and that it caused tension between he and the guitarist, Brian.

 

_ Brian May _ .

 

A name she could finally place with a face. Having known Morgan, almost, her entire life, she’s almost appalled it’s taken Morgan this long to bring them together. He was tall, taller than most men on campus, long limbs fluid with each simple movement he made. Dark curls cascade down to his shoulders and cover his eyes as he meticulously watches each moment of his fingers, ensuring each note is struck with accuracy. Had it not been for the elbow in her ribs, Chrissy is sure she’d still be gaping, mouth open and all. A cautious gaze turns toward her friend, blue eyes low but when she sees the amusement on Morgan’s face, her anxiety slowly melts away.

 

‘ _ He’s so handsome, I know _ , _ ’  _ Morgan mouths, playfully winking at Chrissy before continuing to sway her body to the rhythm of the song. Shrugging it off, Chrissy finally lets down her guard, hips shimmying as she danced. Admittedly, it was the most carefree she’s felt in a long time and she’s almost bummed when the boys take their bows and exit the stage  \--  _ almost _ , until Morgan grabs her arm and quickly weaves them through the dense crowd, out of a back door and into a shoddy alleyway. For the second time that evening, Chrissy finds herself freezing, again. It’s just the two of them, in bitter cold silence, for the  _ longest  _ time.

 

“Does your  _ boyfriend  _ usually make you wait in the cold? Seems kinda shit.” Chrissy is quick to dodge Morgan’s swinging fist, laughter ringing out in the night. “What? I’m right! Don’t know what kind of man would make his girl wait out in a creepy alley behind a pub in the cold.”

 

“He’s just grabbing his stuff and waiting for the boys. A little patience would do you well, Chrissy.”

 

The wait continues for another five minutes before two unknown men exit the pub and begin to load things into the van. Chrissy tightens her coat around herself, trying to burrow her face in the fleece material as Morgan disappears back into the pub. Chrissy can see, just down the hall, that she’s embraced Brian and is already dragging him down into a kiss. Nothing quite completes a night out like being the obvious third wheel.

 

“You look like you’re about to turn into an ice pop.”

 

The voice belongs to the bassist and Chrissy finds herself grinning bashfully as he drapes his coat around her shoulders. Now that she’s getting a better look at him, his eyes seem to twinkle as his smile grows wider. Chrissy almost isn’t sure how someone with such a sweet aura found way into a growing rock band like Queen.

 

“I am, but my coat is enough,” Chrissy explains, extending the coat back to John who, in turn, extends out his hand.

 

“John Deacon.”

 

“Yeah, I know. Morgan kinda introduced you while you guys were playing. Chrissy Mullen.”

 

A brief handshake, warm smiles exchanged, and John is making his way to the van to put his things away. 

 

“Are you--”

 

“Cold? Yes. I’m fine.”

 

Chrissy finds herself as she’s approached by the drummer, a vague look of smugness on his features. He’s shorter, but only because the brunette is in heels. His back hits the wall beside her, hands fumbling in his pockets for his packet of cigarettes. Chrissy has to resist the urge to gag when he offers one. 

 

“Smoking is kinda gross,” she adds meekly, waving away the puff cloud of smoke that seemed to burn its way into her nose. Chrissy wasn’t sure how anyone did it; it was  _ beyond  _ gross to her.

 

“Oh,” Roger drones, and Chrissy almost feels herself retreat into her skin as the drummer focuses all of his attention her. “I hardly meant to offend--”

 

“Roger, don’t you need to finish breaking down your drum kit?”

 

A new voice, husky with an accent that was like her own, but different. Freddie. He was twice as attractive up close and he knew it; he carried it in his walk. Chrissy feels her stomach knot slightly when his deep eyes study her.

 

“Who’s this?”

 

“A friend of Morgan’s. I’m Chrissy. Chrissy Mullen.”

 

Freddie’s hand is warm when it takes Chrissy’s, and that warm quickly floods into her cheek when lips press against the back of her hand. It was reassuring to know, at least, two of the guys had a  _ little  _ chivalry in them.

 

“Any friend of Morgan’s is a friend of ours. Freddie, darling, and  _ do  _ get in the van. You’re two shades away from blue and I can’t have you frostbitten when the night is so young.

 

Blue eyes cut to her friend, who’s now outside, but still liplocked with the guitarist. Are they even breathing even? Chrissy’s had a few long kisses, but everyone needs air.

 

“ _ Morgan _ , aren’t we going home?” Ignoring what Freddie just said, Chrissy presses her friend, tone insistent in attempt to silently stress how badly she wanted to go back to their dorm. Trotting over, Morgan throws a slender arm around Chrissy’s waist with a grin, and the brunette almost dreads her answer.

 

“We can go back later. I thought we could hang with the band for a little bit? You know, so you can get to know everyone properly.”

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

Chrissy whines under her breath as she elbows Morgan in the side, who smiles innocently in return. She always had a way of getting  _ exactly  _ what she wanted, and it drove Chrissy  _ insane _ . Whatever. They  _ had  _ agreed that they’d spend the night together  \- she just didn’t know that meant they’d be out the  _ whole  _ night.

 

“Oh! This is Brian, by the way.”

 

Even in heels, he seemed to tower over both girls. Chrissy leans her head back to meet his gaze, a hand extended between them in wait for his. Her mind sounds like a broken record, but like the rest of the men, he was  _ especially  _ handsome up close, effortlessly - like Morgan. She gets why they fit so well together.

 

“I didn’t quite catch your name.”

 

His hazel eyes seem endless as he waits for an answer; Chrissy feels like an idiot for suddenly forgetting her basic motor functions.

 

“Chrissy. I’m Chrissy.”

 

They shake hands and his touch is firm, but soft and inviting. The tips of is fingers are rough from what she can only assume is years and years of guitar playing, and Chrissy notices the almost  _ sensual  _ way his fingertips slide over the back of her hand before letting go. Chrissy tries to pay it little mind, but her face burns with color and she can’t help but feeling embarrassed.

 

Get it  _ together _ , girl.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Chrissy.”

 

As quickly as he came, he was gone, whisking Morgan away from her side and ushering her into the backseat of the van. Chrissy stands there for a minute, almost  _ angry _ and she hasn’t the slightest clue why. Morgan always had a way of forgetting she even existed when she was with a guy; this was her boyfriend and it was no better. Only pulled from her frustration by John, who’s halfway in the van and only stopping to help her in.

 

“A proper gentleman,” she remarks, and it draws a chuckle from him. She slides into the seat beside him, finally glad to be in some warmth. His arm around her shoulders is inviting; Chrissy gladly tucks herself into his side as she tries to ignore the familiar sounds of kissing and giggling from the back seat as Freddie and Roger pile into the front seat, and the van lurches onward.

 

Christ, this would be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter feels a bit short but i changed some things around from the original one. enjoy!

Relief is hardwood floors beneath socked feet. Relief is taking a cool rag to the face to scrub away what feels like a million pounds of makeup. Relief  _ would _ be her own bed in her half of the dorm, but Chrissy finds herself, knees pressed her chest and ankles crossed on the worn down sofa, everyone bustling around trying to get settled in. It was almost weird, the way Morgan interacted with the boys; the dynamic they all had. When Morgan was in her zone like this, she had a peculiar way of forgetting that Chrissy even existed. She was kind of used to it, but it didn’t make this situation any less awkward for her. Tucked into herself, Chrissy is left to wonder just when, and  _ how _ , she and Morgan were gonna get back to campus.

 

“You look lonely,” remarks John, the couch sinking even more as he sits down next to Chrissy. The brunette grins when the bassist extends his arm outward; a silent invitation that she could reclaim her spot nestled against him. Thought they had just met a few hours prior, Chrissy feels like she’s known John her whole life. Being around him was just … Comfortable.

 

“Kind of used to it,” she finally answer with a shrug; nothing new. Chrissy watched as John carefully picks up the two ceramic mugs on the end table beside them, eyes curiously surveying the mug’s dark contents. The familiar smell of chocolate tickles her nose and she almost moans in delight. She hasn’t had a good cup of hot chocolate since she was a child; without looking, she can feel the bassist’s eyes on her, anticipation radiating from his thin frame. Chrissy sips it carefully, actually releasing the moan that was only a thought a second ago.

 

“John, that’s  _ really _ good. I don’t think I’ve ever had a cuppa this good.” Taking another sip, Chrissy sighs as the cocoa washes down her throat, settling in her stomach and sending warmth to her still chilled bones. Chocolate dribbles down her chin and Chrissy can’t help the heat that rushes to her cheeks when a slender finger carefully swipes it away.

 

“Thanks! It’s my secret recipe,” he finally answers, lowering his tone as if to emphasize his point. Chrissy finds herself smiling, her cheeks almost sore as it grows the more and more they talk. John, or  _ Deaky _ as affectionately called by the rest of the band, is one of the most genuine people Chrissy has ever had the pleasure of meeting.

 

“Oh, don’t talk her ear off. Poor thing, here.”

 

Another cup extended, this time from Freddie, and Chrissy hesitantly takes it. Before even looking into the cup, she knows it’s alcohol and she’s hardly in any mood to get drunk. Nevertheless, she sips anyways, face distorting as the liquid sears it’s way down her throat. She tries her hardest to not hide her face when both Freddie and John laugh.

 

“Not your speed?”

 

“Not exactly,” Chrissy explains, wiping her mouth the back of her hand before passing the cup back to Freddie. “Wine is about it for me. I don’t exactly do anything rougher.”

 

This makes Freddie laugh, and Chrissy in turn. There’s almost an intimidating aura about him; how  _ confident  _ he was, and how quickly he could cut into anyone without hesitation and with such ease, and god dammit he was  _ handsome _ . Chrissy almost feels compelled to kiss him, but she quickly distracts herself with small chat:  _ where are you from, when did you start singing, where do you shop _ ? The conversation, while thorough, is short lived when Freddie goes and gets himself something to drink.

 

Again this evening, Chrissy finds herself alone.

 

Chrissy studies the room quietly. Deaky is making himself something to eat; he’s one of the only ones to have strayed from alcohol, so food was a safe bet for him. Freddie sat at the little table in the dining room, or what Chrissy assumed was the dining room. A cigarette hangs from his lips as he leafs through a catalog on the table. Just beyond the little table in front of her is everyone else. Roger stands in the doorway of the bathroom, a brush tearing carelessly through tangled tresses, Brian sits in a lounge chair and Morgan is on his lap. Roger rambles on about something, nothing Chrissy cares enough to try and listen to, but her eyes land on her friend and her friend’s boyfriend. She notes the way Brian’s hand rests on her side, thumb slowly following the supple curve of her hip. Jealousy seemed to be the first and only feeling Chrissy seems to recognize and she hates it. Morgan literally gets any man she sets her eyes on, and she does it with such grace, so effortlessly that Chrissy can’t help but be frustrated. It had always been that way and Chrissy wished she had the charm Morgan had. She wished she had option to turn guys away because so many were interested in her. She knew her place; the friend to make everyone else look good. Huffing a sigh, Chrissy rests her chin atop her knees and gives a quick scan of the room before her head before her eyes return to Brian; she’s only mildly surprised to find his eyes already on hers. Chrissy blinks, looking around only to find him still staring when she looks back. The corners of his mouth are pulled upward into a smile, but Chrissy can’t quite ready him and a wave of discomfort washes over Chrissy. 

  
  


“I don’t think your friend is leaving anytime soon,” Deaky notes as he sits down once again, a bowl of pasta wedged between his knees. Chrissy turns her gaze to the bassist for a moment, slightly relieved when she realizes Brian is no longer looking at her. She has half a mind to ask him just what his issue was.

  
  


“I know,” she admits defeatedly, sneaking a glance to Morgan, who was now kissing Brian again. Never in life had she seen her friend all over a guy this way -- and  _ never  _ has Chrissy felt this jealous before. “-- she always makes plans as we go and then never tells me.”

 

“Well, if it isn’t too weird, I have an old sweater you can wear if you’re looking to change. I don’t think you’re too comfortable.” Chrissy wasn’t sure if it was cause of clothes or-- 

 

“Yeah.” Chrissy shakes her head, giving Deaky a gentle nudge as if to encourage him to go and get the sweater. The energy in the flat was still high though it was nearing midnight. Roger’s dipped out, not exactly explaining where he was going and Freddie was quick to follow. Once Deaky brings the change of clothes and finishes his food, he wishes everyone a goodnight, placing a garlic-y kiss to Chrissy’s cheek, making her laugh.

 

Chrissy hurries into the bathroom, pressing herself to the door for a moment. The way Brian looked at her still clings to the back of her eyelids; it was  _ nothing.  _ She knew it was nothing, but why did it send so many conflicting emotions through her? Peeling off Morgan’s outfit, Chrissy slips into her second borrowed outfit of the night. The sweater was cute, cozy, and covered her properly, thankfully. It smelled of a cologne she didn’t recognize, and a hint of jasmine. Very fitting or a man like Deaky. Splashing a bit of cool water on her face, Chrissy exits the bathroom and makes her way back to the couch where two pillows and thick blanket wait. Assuming it was Deaky, she mumbles a quiet thank you before sliding into the groove of the couch, covering herself to her neck and turning her back to the room.

 

It would be impossible to sleep somewhere she’s never been before, but being exhausted, she had to try.

  
  


***

 

A dull throb in her lower back and a painful, dry cough jolts Chrissy awake. The flat is dark and white, save for  quiet snoring that, she assumes, is coming from Deaky’s room. Groaning, Chrissy rises to her feet, spine cracking before she shuffled quietly through the darkness toward the bathroom. The pale yellow glow from the lamp above the mirror causes her to squint, her reflection back to the usual pale girl she’s used to seeing. Slender fingers move to turn the faucet on, splashing two cool handfuls of water onto her face before quietly slurping the third out of her palm. Chrissy pauses for a moment, eyes closed as she exhales three slow breaths; she’d much rather be in her dorm right now. Flicking out the light, Chrissy pulls the bathroom door closed before she starts back toward the couch.

 

“Woah, excuse me.”

 

In the darkness, Chrissy hardly knew there was someone else there. Slender fingers wrapped around her shoulders are the only thing that stop her from completely running into the guitarist. Huffig, the brunette takes a small step backward, rebalancing herself. Now that her eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, she notes the intent way his hazel eyes search for hers, diverting only slightly when he notices the sweater she’s wearing isn’t her own.

 

“He just— I didn’t want to go to sleep in that dress.”

 

“Deaky would give someone the clothes off his back. He’s honestly the nicest guy. We’re lucky to know him.”

 

Chrissy listens, a grin forming on her face as the dreamy lilt of his voice caresses her eardrums. His voice was so soft, rich like honey, warm like a thick duvet;  Chrissy wants to wraps herself in it. She, however, steps aside so he can file into the bathroom as he originally intended. Chrissy makes her way back to the couch and tries to find a comfortable position to get in.

 

“You know, you can come bunk with me and Morgan. I’ll sleep on the floor if that makes things better.” After these unexplained, prolonged glances, Chrissy isn’t quite sure it’s an good idea for them to share such an intimate space.

 

“The couch is fine,” she explains, burrowing further before turning her back. The silence that follows is long, heavy; Chrissy can feel him staring at her, almost as if he was sizing her up before the creek of the floorboards signal his departure. As the late night hours slowly give way to morning, the beginning rays of sun painting the living room sultry shades of orange and yellow, Chrissy can’t help but fear that her feelings towards Brian were more complicated than she had been thinking.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guyssss. this ??? took a while bc school is killing me and i needed to redo this chapter. the first was a mess. enjoy!

Chrissy is the first, and only one, awake at 7:30. Having been on this same schedule since early adolescence, being the first awake no longer was unusual to her. Sitting up first, Chrissy tiredly rubs at her eyes and surveys the chaos from last night. Random articles of clothing and beer bottles are strewn about the floor, tangled in the shag rug. Cigarette butts fill the few ashtrays scattered about the space; the air smelled like stale cigarettes, making Chrissy groan in distaste. She rises to her feet next, bones snapping as she tries to stretch the stiffness away, a small mewl falling from chapped lips. These boys needed a new couch  _ badly _ . Immediately,  Chrissy has three thoughts: pee, clean, tea. Feet stagger as she quickly makes her way to the bathroom to relieve herself. 

 

“There’s gotta be mouthwash,” she grumbles, digging through the small basket of toiletries on the counter. Satisfied when she finds a small travel size, she proceeds to dump its contents in her mouth after washing her hands. Wasn’t the same as brushing,  _ at all, _ but it freed her of the stale taste that resided in her mouth. Once exiting, the bathroom, she pauses in the hall to listen for any sort of noise from the bedrooms, but only managing to hear quiet snoring.

 

Clean.

 

This wasn’t her home and she really had no obligation to clean, but if she had to wait for Morgan to wake up so they could go back to campus, she could at least do it in a clean area. Chrissy moves quietly, gathering the empty bottles and emptying ashtrays. Once clearing the couch of the blankets she’s used, Chrissy feels a deep sense of satisfaction.

 

“Do you normally clean after a sleepover?”

 

Cutting her eyes, Chrissy huffs under her breath, shrugging as she tugs on the sleeves of the borrowed sweater. She didn’t and she doesn’t exactly know why she did this time. Forfeiting an answer, Chrissy gives a shrug and turns her attention back to hem of the sweater. The hope was  the guitarist would the hint and let the conversation end there. Chrissy gives a hushed groan inward when she realizes Brian’s making his way toward the couch, additional weight making the already broken down couch seem even closer to the floor. Neither of them speak; the silence is near deafening.

 

“Have you played long?” Chrissy regrets the question as soon as it comes out. “I mean, clearly you have; your skills are phenomenal.” Pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, Chrissy sighs heavily before flashing an apologetic smile. “— normally I can make conversation.” Relief comes in the form of quiet laughter from the man beside her; so he didn’t think she was _ entirely  _ crazy.

 

“Since I was a kid. My dad and I actually built my guitar together a few years back. I already knew how to play, and fairly well I’d like to think, but I’d been begging for a guitar of my own, unique to me— and that’s … really the story of her.”

 

“Her?”

 

“My guitar. The Red Special, as I’ve affectionately named her.” The look of pride in his eyes almost has Chrissy swooning.  _ Almost.  _ The rumble of her stomach is the only reason to halt the conversation; her eyes cut to the kitchen and then back to Brian.

 

“You wouldn’t mind if I made some tea, right?” She hardly waits for an answer, rising from the couch and making her way into the small kitchen. “I’ll clean up any mess I make.”

 

“I don’t care, personally,” comes Brian’s half spoken, half yawned response. “— knock yourself out.”

 

The third and final task line: tea.

 

A kettle is already on the stove, thankfully, which leaves Chrissy with the task of finding mugs and tea bags. After several fruitless minutes of searching, Chrissy huffs and takes a step back from the cabinets.

 

“Fred keeps them all the way up here.” Startled by the sudden company, the brunette steps to the side to avoid being reached over. “It’s hilarious, really. I’m the only person who can reach up here without tiptoes or a chair, but Freddie absolutely refuses to move them.”

 

“I understand. If you’re used to something being a certain way or in a certain place, no matter how silly, it just … Works for you.” A pause. “Thank you.” Chrissy is thankful for the silences; she needs a moment in the morning to enjoy her tea and gather her thoughts. Brian turning his body toward her, one arm leaning against the counter, proves a silent indication that her morning solace won’t be happening.

 

“So, how long have you known Morgan? You two seem like you go way back.”

 

“We do,” she explains, plunging her tea bag into the scalding water. “since we were kids, actually. She’s like a sister to me.” Holding the warm mug in her hands, Chrissy gives a little shrug. “It’s good to see she’s finally found a guy that’s treating her the way she’s deserves.”

 

“Does this mean we have your blessing?”

 

“Not at all!” Chrissy scoffs and rolls her eyes, the rich tenor of Brian’s laugh sending a warm jolt of energy down her spine. “I just met you last night. I’m not quite sure what I think of you yet.”

 

For how light and playful the air had just been, Chrissy’s latest remark brings about a new tension. The look of the guitarists face is confusion, mostly, but what seems to be genuine hurt as well. Had she offended him?

 

“Don’t you like me?”

 

“Well,” she drawls, stepping around him carefully so she could return to the couch, not surprised that he’s quick to reclaim his spot beside her. “I never said I don’t  _ like  _ you. I said I don’t know what to think of you.” Chrissy sips her tea, trying to keep her expression neutral while trying to ready Brian’s. She continues after she clears her throat.  “I think that’s an alright place to be considering I haven’t even known you twenty-four hours yet.” Biting her bottom, Chrissy gently gives Brian’s knee a quick pat. “There’s time, don’t worry.”

 

Before Chrissy can pull her hand away, long fingers slowly curl over her own. His hand is large and inviting. Warm, firm, but not intimidating - worn from years of playing. Blush invades Chrissy’s face, swirling in her cheeks and fanning across her nose. The gesture  _ feels  _ friendly and yet strangely intimate at the same time. Eyes shift slowly and Chrissy is thankful his attention is focused on their joint hands instead of her. As quickly as the moment begins, it’s ended by the sound of Morgan rolling out of bed, still dressed in the same outfit from last night.

 

“Hey, Chris. Thought you would of caught a cab back to campus.” Sighing, Chrissy rolls her eyes as Morgan sandwiches her way into the middle, tucking herself against the guitarist and sprawling her legs across Chrissy lap.”

 

“Had half a mind,” she mutters quietly, adjusting the weight in her lap while trying to get comfortable once more. “thought it would have been best for us to go back together, split the fee. That made the most sense to me.” Finishing her tea in silence, Chrissy carefully rises to her feet, rinsing her mug and leaving it on the counter for Brian to put away when he got a free minute.

 

“That being said,” Chrissy continues. “I’d like to get back. I need a proper shower and a proper place to sleep.” The groan from the sofa signals that Morgan understood; it would still be another ten minutes before she was truly ready. Waiting near the front door, Chrissy watches as her friend disappears into the bathroom, and then her gaze turns to Brian. He had been doing the same thing when hazel eyes meet her own. She can’t quite place the look in his eyes, or figure out his demeanor. If this was how he went about making friends, Chrissy wasn’t too sure she was impressed.

  
  


“Alrighty babes,”Morgan drawls, giving the guitarist a quick peck before thin arms wrap around Chrissy’s frame. “— time to split; gotta get this good egg back to the next.” Chrissy would laugh if she found it funny. Sighing, Chrissy wraps her arms around herself as she makes her way to the front door, trusting Morgan would follow.

 

“Hopefully we’ll hang out again soon.” Blue eyes follow the familiar tenor, mildly surprised to see Brian trailing behind the duo. “It was lovely to meet you.”

 

_ Was it _ ?

 

Chrissy’s left to make sense of the morning, wondering just what Brian truly thinks of her, of the oddly intimate morning they’ve shared together. Pondering continues only until an elbow gently wiggles into her ribcage.

 

“Do you like him?”

 

Chrissy hesitates. “Brian? Yeah.” A shrug. “He’s a really good guy. It’s good you’ve found someone like him.”

  
Turning toward the window, Chrissy comfortably enjoys the silence in the cab ride back to campus and the silence that followed on the walk back to their dorms. The sooner she could return to schooling and normal life, away from _ all  _ of what happened last night, the better


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit, right? it’s been a hot minute but, much awaited chapter four! im finishing up cosmetology school and should be taking my state board tests soon (wish me luck) so... posting might return to normal then? we’ll see. i did not ... proof read bc i need to get this posted before i overanalyze it further. enjoy,

***

Final exams come and go, and Chrissy gets ready to head home for the summer with the odd feeling of being unsatisfied. Packing away the last box of her clothing, Chrissy gives a little sigh before exiting the dorm, making her way back down to her car.  The teal colored Ford Escort had been a gift for finishing her first year of university and two years down the road, she’s _so_ thankful she doesn’t have to rely on friends or public transit to get where she needs to. Shoving the box into the last free space in her backseat, Chrissy huffs, pulling her hair over one shoulder as she glares at Morgan, comfortably positioned on the hood of her car.

 

“Remind me why you aren’t helping when I’m driving us home?”

 

“Cause you love me?” Chrissy huffs as she closes the trunk of her car, eyes rolling as she makes her way to the driver’s seat, reaching to open Morgan’s door. Once the keys are in the ignition, their journey home can begin.

 

“How’s Brian?” The early summer air caresses Chrissy skin, languid and slow. It had been months since their first meeting; Chrissy hadn’t heard much from Morgan in terms of him since then.

 

“Dreamy as ever!” Morgan’s reply chimes over the air swirling around them.“— but he’s been super busy lately; they’re working on another album and I feel like he never has time for me anymore!”  Chrissy listens intently to her friend’s plight, inwardly wondering how someone who could possibly have everything they wanted, and then some, could constantly feel like she needed more.

 

“I figured we could all use a night out,” she continues nonchalantly. “so I told the boys to meet us at the flat.”

 

“So,” Chrissy begins slowly, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “Firstly, you gave them our _address?_ I know he’s your guy and those are his friends, but our home?” Chrissy bites back further frustration, neck rolling as she focuses her attention on the road again. “Secondly, you expect me, after driving half the afternoon, to … Be the third wheel for you and your boyfriend?”

 

“What? Of course not! Everyone’s coming. You’ll be… You won’t even be a wheel. You’ll be able to do your own thing!” Though this doesn’t help, Chrissy gives a nod and tries to seem excited. As much as Chrissy loved Morgan, it was a bit frustrating to have her time volunteered without her permission. She would go, of course, but the principal was that Morgan didn’t even ask before assuming Chrissy wanted to spend her first night out of school at some bar.

 

“Sounds fun.” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Chrissy gives a single shoulder shrug. “I might borrow something of yours again; I felt really good when we went out last.”

 

“You should feel that good _always,_ Christine! That’s point.”

 

It was never truly that simple.

 

***

“I appreciate you letting me wear this.”  Chrissy gives an impish smile, bands smoothing over the metallic silver material clinging to her skin. “don’t … don’t you think it’s a bit much?” Hands gesture to the slit in either side of the dress, spanning from her knee all the way to her hips; it wasn’t _her_.

 

“No, it’s just enough!” Chrissy sighs inwardly as she tugs the hem of the dress in attempt to have it cover her more. She felt exposed, and not in a pleasant way. “You said you liked how the last one made you feel, right?”

 

“Yeah, but the last one didn’t threaten to expose my crotch if I sneezed,” Chrissy explains with a sigh. “Thank you, Morgan, but I don’t think this is gonna cut it.” Satisfied that her friend sees things her way, Chrissy gives a pleased grin when Morgan disappears back into her closet and returns with another dress. The thin straps nestle comfortably on her freckled shoulders, u shaped neckline comfortably hugging her breasts and hips. Normally, Chrissy wasn’t fond of such form shaping clothes, but as her fingertip caress the royal blue velveteen, she can’t help but admire how she looks. _This_ was it.

 

“You’re so cute when you get into it.” Remarks leave Chrissy blushing, fuchsia staining through the hollows of her cheeks. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all; Chrissy did enjoy spending time with her best friend, and a few drinks wouldn’t be all that bad.

 

“Now,” Morgan adds after sliding a matching pair of velveteen boots to Chrissy. “I didn’t think you wanted to ride in their old van so… I told them we’d take your car when they got here?”

 

“ _Morgan,_ there’s six of us total. How are— it’s gonna be uncomfortable to get all of us in there.”

 

“No it won’t! You’ll drive, one of them can sit in the front, the rest of us will kind of … Sandwich together in the back seat. It’ll be fine.”

 

Chrissy slides her feet into the boots without another word, plopping down in Morgan’s bed in wait for the arrival of the band. A comfortable silence cloaks the friends as a pale orange washes over the room, dying daylight shifting through the sheer cream colored curtains. Familiar voices along with the rolling sound of a van door closing draws Chrissy from her thoughts; Morgan is already halfway out the room before Chrissy can even get out of bed.

 

“Yeah,” she murmurs with a little huff, arms wrapping around herself as she exits the room behind her bestfriend. “— right behind you, Mo.” Fingers grab the small shawl that accompanies the outfit, draping it over her bare shoulders before descending the stairs. The front door is wide open as Chrissy files into the foyer - Morgan’s flung herself into Brian’s arms, and if Chrissy didn’t know any better, she could have swore the coil tightening in her stomach was born of jealousy. Just beyond the couple, Roger issues out cigarettes to Freddie and Deaky, lighting his own before Freddie’s; John’s fails to ignite before it falls from his lips.

 

“ _Wow_ , Chrissy - you… you look—”

 

“She’s not a piece of meat, Deaky. Close your mouth.”

 

Chrissy was unfamiliar with this kind of attention. Being a face in a crowd was familiar, only pretty enough to not be talked about. Being Morgan’s second was typical, and to have this kind of attention? Well, it felt _damn_ good.

 

“Thank you, John.” Chrissy claims the spot by the bassist’s side, pressing a tender kiss to his flushed face before giving his hair a gentle ruffle. The air of innocence that surrounded John was so pure, so vibrant. Chrissy can only hope the life of a rockstar doesn’t diminish that light so soon.  

 

“Guess we should figure this car situation out.” Chrissy murmurs as she diff though her clutch for her car keys, ardently ignoring the heavy gaze of the guitarist’s eyes. Listening for the quiet click of the door unlocking, the brunette slides down into the driver’s seat.

 

“Oh you gotta be joking.” A frustrated mop of blonde curls slides into the backseat, blue eyes scorching as he turns his shoulders to try and make room for Freddie. “I don’t get why we couldn’t just take the van; she probably doesn’t wanna drive!”

 

“Sorry, Roger.” Reaching between her seat and the door, Chrissy gives Roger’s knee a sympathetic squeeze, mouth turning upward in a grin when his hot palm playfully claps down over her own. “We won’t be packed in here too long.”

 

***

“London Town!  My home!”

 

“You’re not even from here, technically, and you didn’t tell us for two whole years.”

 

Chrissy laughs at the quiet bickering between Freddie and John as she stretched herself out, joints cracking softly. It was half past eight and the summer sun still scorched across the sky, painting the world warm shades of yellow and orange, early dusk sprinkling piles of periwinkle across the horizon. Being with notably famous people was quite the experience for Chrissy; she wasn’t used to the prolonged stares, the whispers as they all walked past. Linking an arm through Morgan’s, pulling her toward her sigh, Chrissy gives an anxious laugh.

 

“Is it always like this? I mean…” Chrissy nods her head, using her pinky figure to vaguely gesture toward the group of gawking girls they just passed. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

 

“Sort of? Mostly cause I don’t want these other birds thinking they’re gonna have a pass at my man.” Joy filled laughed envelops the friends, cheeks stretching and burning in delight. It was nice to just joke around with Morgan; the easy and carefree dynamic of their friendship being the pillar of strength. Sliding her arm around Morgan’s slender waist, Chrissy gives a little exhale as the group navigates into the already packed bar, music droning over chatter over nothingness. Uneasy, Chrissy tucks herself against Morgan’s side as the group makes their way toward a more secluded table in the back.

 

“First round of shots on me!” Pushing in his chair, the drummer gives a less than graceful bow before elbowing his way toward the bar. Relaxing into her seat, Chrissy carefully shrugs the fabric from her shoulders, slightly humid air ticking her exposed shoulders. It almost felt odd being out, with the budding rockstars no less - she just needed to keep reminding herself that she deserved the night out, despite feeling the opposite. As shot glasses are ushered out, a small wave of doubt courses through Chrissy; she didn’t drink but she didn’t want to be the only one not having a good time.

 

“Come on, cupcake.” A toned arm slides around her shoulders, Roger’s, her shot glass now in his hand. Chrissy looks at him, _actually_ looks at him for the first time since their meeting. He looked the same, if not a little more worn from traveling and playing constantly. Once dirty blond curls now have a warm, golden glow to them; Chrissy was almost envious that his hair, likely, has received more salon treatment than hers ever has.

 

“Sorry,” she offers pathetically, taking the glass and quickly downing its contents, trying to ignore the burn as it made its way down her throat. “— I’m not really a drinker, especially for … harder things like that.”

 

“Hanging around us will likely turn you into a drinker.”

 

Chrissy laughs at Roger’s honesty, giving his hand a polite squeeze before he returns to his seat beside Freddie. The baton is passed and Deaky is in line to get shots next, and Chrissy quietly excuses herself from the table to accompany him to the bar.

 

“You don’t look old enough to even be here, John.” Chrissy is thankful her joke earns her a laugh instead of annoyance. The brunette slides in carefully, taking the bassist’s and linking it around her shoulders as they wait for the bartender to make his way down to them.

 

“I’ve never been carded for anything,” he admits, a vague air of disappointment in his tone. “— I am old enough to be in here; I’ll be twenty-two in August.”

 

“It’s a good thing, I think? You don’t look old, but old enough?” Trying to bite back a laugh, Chrissy gives his arm a gentle pat and kisses his cheek. Only a few years older than he, she still can sympathize with his plight. The two stand in silence for a moment, sharing the duty of transporting the glasses back to the table.

 

Shot, bar, shot, repeat.

 

By up the fifth shot, Chrissy feels herself succumbing to the familiar warmth of tipsiness; she wasn’t looking to get piss drunk, so she figures now would be a good time to lay off. Not wanting to totally quit, though, she makes her way back to the bar for a different drink, settling for a dry martini.

 

“Have we scared you off?”

 

Pulling her hair over one shoulder, Chrissy gives a bashful smile as the guitarist slides onto barstool beside her. From a quick glance, Chrissy can see the way liquor has loosened him up, brought a healthy blush to his cheeks.

 

“No,” she finally answers. “Just… Needed a different drink, that’s all.” A nod of her head to the half empty glass in front of her. “I didn’t wanna do anymore shots and I’m more than capable of getting my own drink, so, I did.” A silence envelops them and Chrissy isn’t exactly sure if it’s comfortable or not - she needed to distract herself before she said something foolish. Blue eyes scan the bar, those that sat beside her and further down the counter. Some were alone, drowning whatever sorrows they had in endless glasses of liquor, and some were with friends, others with a partner. How _dreadful_ it was to still be single, moreso to be single and have nagging feelings for your best friend’s partner. Turning her attention back to Brian, Chrissy hesitates asking a question when noticing how deep in thought he was. A single, slender finger idly traces the grain in the wood that made up the counter, forward and backward. Chrissy wonders what has him so occupied; her fingers rest over his when his hand nears her own again. Realizing she now had his full attention and absolutely nothing to say, Chrissy flounders a bit.

 

“What’s this?” A single finger points to the necklace he’s wearing, carefully lifting the pendant from where it lay on his chest.

 

“You know, I haven’t paid it much mind.” The bow of his head casts a small shadow over the pendant. “I think it’s a hammer? It was a gift from Freddie.” Satisfied with the answer, Chrissy lets the small hammer fall from her finger before both hands return to her lap. In the silence, again, Chrissy takes a moment to study Brian’s outfit.

 

“It’s nice out and you’re… Wearing a scarf?” A laugh leaves the brunette and she holds the crocheted yarn in her hands, ignoring how it comfortable hugged his exposed neck.

 

“It goes with my shirt!” With mock offense, the scarf is pulled from her hands and smoothed out before it rests, untied around his neck. Silence returns yet again and Chrissy can’t help but fidget in her spot. It was _frustratingly_ difficult to talk to Brian, maybe because of his stardom, maybe because of his unavailability.

 

“What’s the story of you and Morgan, then?” Chrissy is in the process of finishing her drink when the question is asked. “How did a pretty lady like yourself get caught up in the whirlwind of Morgan?”

 

Blush, obnoxiously pigmented, spreads into Chrissy’s cheek as she playfully nudges the guitarist’s shin with her toe; her eyes scan the table for her friend, only to find her wedged between Freddie and Roger, engaged in what seems to be a very deep conversation. Morgan— one of the few constants in her life, one of the only people she really could depend on.

 

“She wasn’t always this … obnoxious, if you will.” The two share a brief laugh - a warm feeling swirling in Chrissy’s stomach. “We met as kids in primary. She left for America for a few years when we were in our early teens, which explains how weird her accent is. We reconnected when we figured out we were going to the same uni, and that’s really it.” Freckled shoulders shrug. “I’ve known her almost my entire life. I don’t really know what I’d do without her.” Another shrug accompanied with a sheepish grin. “I probably sounds like a complete idiot, but—”

 

“No, it’s very genuine.” A hand, warm and secure, rests on her knee, squeezing ever so slightly. Chrissy meets his gaze again, hazel eyes more brown than usual; Chrissy feels like she could get lost in those endless pools of glazed honey. He was _so_ incredibly handsome, and so inviting — it would be so easy for Chrissy to just lean in and …

 

“We probably shouldn’t leave them alone for too long.” Chrissy carefully peels the hand off of her knee before rising to her feet, purposefully ignoring the slow drag of those deep eyes over her body. Paying her tab, Chrissy smooths then wrinkles from her dress and starts to make her way back to the group’s table in the corner when slim fingers wrap around her wrist, quickly and quietly ushering her into a back alley behind the bar. Dusk as melted into early evening; the air still has a warm twinge to it, but is slowly cooling down.

 

“I can’t think. I don’t know if it’s … if it’s the drink, or if it’s you—”

 

Chrissy watches Brian pace back and forth, cheeks reddening every time he passes. A feeling of unease washes over her; they should stray from their friends, and she wasn’t sure if it would seem odd to be alone with him like this.

 

“Me?” Chrissy’s tone is incredulous and curious all the same - he couldn’t have meant what he said … Right? “I haven’t done anything to stifle your thinking, have I?” Playful curiosity turns to confusion when the guitarist’s fingers tuck a few fly away hairs behind her ear, touch lingering.

 

“Kiss me.”

 

“What? No.”

 

“Come on, kiss me. Just one little peck.”

 

Somewhat offended, the brunette folds her arms over her chest, shutting Brian down and out. How _dare_ he. Chrissy wants to sum it up to the drinks - she knew how she could act after one too many drinks, and this is just that. The longer they stood there in silence, eating away at whatever little resolve was there, the more Chrissy begins to think that maybe, _just_ maybe, Brian actually wanted to kiss her. Sighing, Chrissy unfolds her arms and quickly finds herself in Brian’s.

 

“Quit! Anyone could walk out.”

 

“And they’ll see me kissing you. Big deal.”

 

Wrong. Chrissy knows it’s wrong, but it doesn’t stop her hands from knitting in his scarf, using it at leverage to bring his lips to hers. Conscious doesn’t stop the gentle exhale of satisfaction against his mouth, nor drunken giggles when firm hands squeeze her waist. The fact that he was claimed, they were so exposed doesn’t stop Chrissy from enjoying the weight of his mouth against her own. For as much as she enjoyed the kiss, Chrissy separates her mouth from Brian’s, fingers gently tapping his chest as she rolls off the balls of her feet.

 

“More than a peck.”

 

“— Which means I can’t ask for another, can I?”

 

Delight slowly crashes over her, slow and languid like molasses, but reason is a cruel friend; she knows better than to encourage this further. Chrissy steps back into the bar, leaving Brian and their kiss in the alley.

 

***

“Fairly sure I now hold the record for most traffic violations in a ten minute span.”

 

Harmonious laughter fills the late night air as the group files back into Morgan and Chrissy’s flat. By now, liquor was having its way with all of them, and with the bottle of whiskey and shot glasses tucked against Freddie’s hip, it was evident the night was far from over. Locking up after everyone’s in, Chrissy staggers over to the mass of people on the living room floor, carefully taking the shot glass ushered out by Freddie.

 

“The night is so young, darlings,” he remarks through a slur, tucking a stray black curl behind his left ear. “— let’s play games and… whoever loses liver function first wins.” Chrissy eyes the circle carefully; to her immediately left was Brian, Morgan beside him, followed by Freddie, Deaky and Roger to her right. The vocalist pours the honey colored drink into each shot glass before reclaiming his spot at the helm of the circle.

 

“The game goes as such, my loves; one of us will lead with ‘Never have I ever’ and then some crazy deed, or not crazy deed. If you _truly_ never done it, you won’t take the shot. If you _have,_ and do try to be honest, you take the shot.”

 

“John is clearly gonna win,” Roger interjects, earning a glare from the bassist. “He’s so green at everything.”

 

“You say that every time! I’m not!” The genuine offense from the bassist sends a quick wave of laughter through the room, sans Chrissy who actually felt for his frustration. She was familiar with being the baby in a group, and how hard it actually was to be taken seriously as an adult. After a brief pause, Freddie clears his throat and raises his shot glass to begin the game.

 

“Never have I ever walked in on someone in the act.”

 

Chrissy hesitates, biting back a laugh before slowly asking, “The act of what?”

 

“Sex, masturbation, you pick.”

 

Blue eyes glance around the room curiously, waiting to see who lifts their shot glass first. Seeing that no one has moved just yet, Chrissy shrugs and throws the shot of whiskey back, nearly choking as the liquor burns its way down her throat; she’s only moderately surprised to see every eye in the room turn toward her.

 

“Freddie said be honest.” Freckled shoulders rise and fall as she extends her shot glass for it to be refilled. “I have nothing to hide.” Only alcohol would encourage such bold behavior from Chrissy. Once shot glasses are emptied and refilled, the game continues clockwise; it’s now Roger’s turn to ask a question.

 

“Alright. Never have I ever slept with my best mates girl.”

 

The question feels very direct, and Chrissy can’t help the drunken snort that falls from her lip when Brian begrudgingly takes the shot. A single finger awkwardly twines around a single dark curl, red searing it’s way into his cheeks.

 

“What was her name? Ellie?”

 

“ _Elizabeth._ ”

 

“Oh, right.” The guitarist laughs under his breath, only drawing further frustration from the drummer. “In my defense, I didn’t know they were together. Rog is always ticked with me as if… as if it was this _ultimate_ betrayal—”

 

“It was! It should be a crime—”

 

“Okay!” Fumbling slightly, Chrissy refills Brian’s shot glass before settling in her spot, fingers tapping against her socked foot as she ponders the question she wants to ask the group. “Never have I ever… have I ever wanted to kiss someone in this room.”

 

The tension in the room is unbearable, as if this one question suddenly sobered everyone up. Chrissy takes her shot first, Freddie second before everyone else follows suit. Now, there was a conversation to be had.

 

“Well, miss Chrissy. It seems you’ve brought and elephant into the room,” Freddie lulls, voice thick and almost a slur as he moves to tuck his legs under himself. “We can’t go further until we get to the bottom of this.”

 

Beneath the hilarity of drunkenness, a familiar wave of alarm courses through Chrissy. Memories of the kiss at the bar flood her mind; the families heat of his mouth and body against hers turning her entire face red. A kiss shouldn’t have happened once, let alone twice.

 

“ _Chrissy._ ”

 

The brunette jumps, painfully aware of how every eye in the room is now on her once again, all in wait.  Blush bleeds into her cheeks for the countless time that night, lips pulling into a sheepish grin as arms fold over her chest.

 

“It’s only fair that, since you proposed such a loaded question, you give us an answer.”

 

“What? No. Everyone took a shot. I don’t wanna go first.”

 

“You clearly only asked because you wanna kiss someone.” The sound of Morgan’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard. “Or some _ones._ So, spill.”

 

The silence that follows is only silent affirmation that they weren’t going to continue until Chrissy answered her own question. The playful high that came with drinking was now gone; a sober reality had arrived.

 

“I’ve thought about kissing Deaky.” A nonchalant shrug of her shoulder. “— and Brian.”

 

Silence turns to quiet jeering and laughter, chants of “Kiss him!” erupting from the drummer, only causing the heat in Chrissy’s face to intensify.

 

“I agree.” Freddie waves a single hand, returning the silence to the room. “And since we’re putting dear Chrissy on the spot, we’ll all do the same.” Another pause before the vocalist reclines on his elbows. “Claim your men.”

 

Avoiding the obvious elephant in the room, Chrissy carefully crawls across the small circle toward the extremely sheepish bassist. His cheeks, nose, and the tips of his ears that playfully poke through his hair are all vivid shades of pink, grey eyes focused on his lap.

 

“Come on,” Chrissy teases, grabbing one of his hands and placing it on her hip. The least she could do was lighten the situation. “Don’t you wanna kiss me, John? I thought we’ve been hitting it off well.” Pulling the younger man into a kneeling position as well, Chrissy hardly waits for his answer before planting her lips on his. He’s terribly nervous, and only tenses more when he’s finally kissed, but quickly turns to putty beneath Chrissy’s hands. His mouth is soft, a little keen, but careful to not be overbearing; Chrissy happily sinks into both the kiss and his body when hands slide to the small of her back. Alcohol is heavy on his tongue, which gently prods Chrissy’s bottom lip and without much hesitation, makes its way into her mouth. As much as she was enjoying this, petite fingers press against the man’s shoulders, separating their mouths with a hushed laugh.

 

“If I didn’t have eyes, which I do,” Roger remarks slyly. “I think Deaky wants to do more than just kiss Chrissy.”

 

“I don’t think he’s green at all, Roger.” The brunette grins bashfully and backtracks to her spot, pulling her hair over one shoulder with a shrug. “Seemed like he knew exactly what he was doing.”

 

“Deaky _and_ Brian,” Freddie reminds, gesturing to the guitarist with another wave.

 

“Morgan? I d—”

 

“No, it’s fine. As long as I get to kiss you after.” Her remark earns a batch of almost childlike excitement from Roger and Deaky; Chrissy would be amused if it didn’t feel like her heart was going to explode out of her chest. Even kneeling, Brian was quite a bit taller than she was, making her feel extremely small.

 

“Sorry if this is … Weird.” Chrissy tucks a piece of hair behind her ear with a scowl, sighing inwardly. “Sorry— I don’t even know why I’m apologizing.”

Nervous rambling slows to a halt when slender fingers pull at her wrists. Flush against his chest, beneath his halo of curls does Chrissy see the familiar drunken flush on his face - lips, cheeks and nose all matching shades of pink. The look on his eyes is telling, and it’s only a story Chrissy can understand. Heart hammering, Chrissy’s fingers slowly climb the curve of his jaw, beginnings of stubble tickling her fingertips. When his lips finally find hers, Chrissy feels as if she could collapse in his arms; this is the closest to true euphoria she would ever experience. The connection was effortless, seamless, and Chrissy can’t help but wonder how two, who could never be together, worked so well. Brandy and whisky dance carelessly on his tongue and Chrissy is almost desperate for a taste; the softest exhale of a moan against the heat of his mouth earning her one as well.

 

She needed to stop this before it got out of control.

 

Breathless and almost dizzy, Chrissy staggers to her feet, smoothing out her dress before giving a cautious look around the room, which is all but spinning. She needed out; out of this room, away from these people and from these crushing thoughts of a man she can’t have.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! here’s this. it’s... kinda rushed and kinda filler bc im trying to get from point a to point b. also, here’s a lil sumn written from brian’s POV! as always, kudos and comments feed my children

***

 

If not for the morning sun beating down onto heavy eyelids, sleep could have been easily resumed. Headachey and cottonmouth, hazel eyes, more green than anything, peer around their surroundings. It’s with a small groan that Brian moves into a seated position, heartbeat loud in his ears; this is _exactly_ why he didn’t drink.  It takes several agonizing minutes for him to finally stand, clothes a wrinkled mess from having slept on the floor — floor? Another glance around reminds him he wasn’t at home, or even at Freddie’s.

 

“ _Oh, you’re awake. C’mere, I’ve got the kettle on._ ”

 

The voice is familiar, comforting, and Brian follows it without hesitation. Heavy limbs carry him into the kitchen - surprise is immediate and genuine upon seeing Chrissy; the memory of _both_ kisses sending warmth flooding through him.

 

“Didn’t think you’d be up so soon,” he explains, lips pressing to the back of her shoulder. The gesture _should_ have felt foreign to both of them, but based on her pleased exhales and the gentle sag of her shoulders, Brian has half a mind to think he’s done it before. “— though you’d be knackered with the rest.”

 

“ _I am_ .” Her laughter vibrates beneath his lips, bringing a smile to his face. “ _I am dead on my feet, but death doesn’t beat the desire for tea; you’re clearly a testament to that_.”

 

The jab, playful, makes the guitarist snort under his breath, fingers skillfully tickling the brunette’s sides as she attempts to pour the boiling water from ten whistling kettle. Though his eyes are closed, Brian observes: the hairs at the base of her neck are damp, a subtle whiff of jasmine gracing his nose - she showered recently, in the last hour or so. Another scent, slightly stronger, dominates the jasmine. Citrus? Citrus and some sort of wood - sandal? Maybe evergreen. Nevertheless, it draws a small hum from the musician as his arms circle her waist, lips trailing a slow line of kisses from her shoulder to her ear and back down again.

 

“ _As much as I’m enjoying this, are you going to fix your tea?”_

 

Brian ignores the remark in favor of pulling her closer, fingers playfully skipping along the lush silk of her nightie. He could stay this way forever; this beautiful woman wrapped in his arms, exhaling quiet sighs of pleasure with each press of his lips to her skin. He’d never want for anything else.

 

“ _Brian—_ ”

 

“— Brian. **Brian,** you sod, wake the hell up.”

 

Headachey and cottonmouth, Brian groans as he’s startled awake; this reality is much harsher than his dream. Freddie is still asleep and John is slowly waking up, mousy brown hair curling softly around his flushed face. He searches for her, mildly surprised to find her in the kitchen making tea.

 

“You have no bedside manners, Rog,” the guitarist remarks, fingers spreading as he stretches himself out. “As much and often as you tick me off, I wouldn’t rudely wake you like that.”

 

“You _would_ and you _have._ Speaking of rude,” a subtle nod to the crease in the front of his pants. “You might wanna go.. Deal with that.”

 

Shame is immediate as Brian rushes to make his way to the bathroom, but not quite as deep and immediate as the realization that thoughts of Chrissy got him here, or the fact that her being the cause didn’t bother him at all.

 

***

“Is he alright?”

 

“Guy issues,” the drummer moans into his tea, tangled blond tresses scattered wildly around his head. “Happens to the best of us.”

 

Chrissy sighs, pulling her hair over one shoulder before taking another prepared cup to the bassist; he seemed to be having the hardest time waking up. Freddie was asleep still and Morgan was nowhere to be found - presumably in her bedroom. Chrissy finds it odd, though, that Morgan would have gone to sleep without Brian. She shakes it off, returning to her own cup of tea in the kitchen. There’s a silence in the flat, save the quiet snoring from the vocalist on the floor; Chrissy’s allowed a brief moment of reflection. She kissed Brian _twice_ last night and oh, did she love it. Eyelids shut as she savors the memory of his mouth on hers, heavy with heat and alcohol. Warmth spills through her, mocking the weight of his body against her own, and _God,_ the feeling of his hands on her body.

 

“You’re smiling like a gup; you’re thinking about Brian, aren’t you?”

 

Chrissy’s eyes rocket open, horror glazing her vision at Roger’s smug demeanor. She clears her throat and shakes her head, skin flaring as amusement takes hold of the man’s face. What did he know anyways?

 

“You’re wrong,” Chrissy interjects, hoping her quickness to answer didn’t make her seem suspicious. “I honestly don’t have any clue what you’re talking about.”

 

“Come on, I thought we were ‘friends’ enough that you could trust me with these kinds of things.” Rounding the countertop, Roger quickly makes his way over to Chrissy, arm snaking around her neck which draws a long, heavy sigh from the brunette.

 

“I see, you know,” he continues, causing Chrissy to squint at him in confusion. “You two haven’t known each other long, but I know a spark when I see one; you’ve done something to him, Chrissy. He’s _way_ more tolerable now.” As heat burns into Chrissy’s face, she playfully elbows the man in his ribs before taking a small step away from him, fingers sweeping hair out of her eyes. Before either of them could speak again, the soft sounds of throat clearing draws similar sets of blue eyes to rise. In the archway of the kitchen stood the guitarist, a healthy pink spread across his cheeks and nose.

 

“Like I said,” Roger drawls, exiting the kitchen with a crude jerk of his hand. For the second time in under forty-eight hours, they were (almost) completely alone.

 

“I’m sorry for him.” Brian’s words are shy, timid as he steps further into the kitchen, a hand sheepishly grazing the back of his neck. “He can be such a brute--”

 

“You don’t have to explain.” Chrissy returns to her cup of tea, cradling the lukewarm ceramic in her palms. “I get it, I honestly do.” A tense silence fills the room, making the brunette fidget uncomfortably. Does she bring up the kiss - either kiss? Did he even remember them? They were both so drunk last night; Chrissy just barely remembers the second kiss. Does that mean he remembered any of it? She had to address the elephant in the room.

 

“Do you--” Chrissy hesitates, chuckling nervously before returning her now empty cup to the counter. “Do you remember last night? If you don’t, that’s fine too. I-- If you do, I don’t think we should--”

 

“I do.”

 

Affirmation causes the words to swell in Chrissy’s throat, lips stammering before another unfortunate laugh to escape her lips. _He remembered._ In a sudden spring of passion, Chrissy navigates herself away from the counter, arms reaching up to escort Brian down into another kiss. The taste of alcohol is long gone from his mouth, but the same weighty heat remained; intense and pounding. His heart hammering against her own causes Chrissy to sink further into his hold, fingers weaving their way into the dense patch of curls near the nape of his neck.

 

“We have to be careful.” Chrissy puffs out the words between kisses, syllables quivering into a soft moan as lips slowly trek the gentle curve of her jaw. “S-seriously, _Brian!_ This--” Biting back another small groan, Chrissy gives Brian’s arms a gentle squeeze before taking a small step backward. Palms rub against her burning face; she takes a moment to collect herself before attempting to speak again.

 

“I like you, I _really_ do. I know I shouldn’t and I know this is bad for me - for both of us. I… I like you enough to squash this before it turns into something nasty.” The words feel foreign coming from her mouth, fake, and Brian’s reaction to them make them no easier. She presses on, despite the tension she’s now created.

 

“Morgan means the world to me, if you didn’t know. Having,” she takes a quick glance around, making sure no eavesdropping ears were near. “-- we’ve kissed three times and I already feel like I’ve hurt Morgan so much. I care for her, and I know you do too. So this? This all has to end.” A small feeling of pride swells in Chrissy’s chest; she’s normally not good at beginning conversations like this. Pride, however, quickly diminishes when she notes the frustrated feeling on Brian’s face. This would be so much _easier_ if he would just communicate what he was thinking, or even feeling.

 

“I guess you’re right.” _Guess?_ “We should leave it here.”

 

The warmth is gone from his voice and his body language, leaving Chrissy to wonder if she’d done the right thing. Despite wanting to reach out and pull him into her arms, Chrissy allows for him to leave the kitchen, watching silently as he makes collects his things and makes his way out of her home, and what Chrissy presumes, her life.

 

***

##  **NOVEMBER 20, 1974** **  
****LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM**

 

Chrissy Mullen has never been one to tell a lie, let alone _live_ one. Yet, she finds herself smack dab in the middle of one. She told herself to make those summery kisses the first and only ones, but their summer affair turns into an autumn romance; Chrissy greedily drinks in every moment with him she can, throwing caution to the wind more times than she cares to count or remember. Despite university resuming and the fact she continued to sneak around with her chosen, Chrissy’s friendship with Morgan blossoms; Morgan was her ticket to see Brian and, selfish as it was, Chrissy had to keep things civil if she wanted to keep seeing him.

 

Needing to satisfy her urges, she does just that.

 

Carefully stroking the laminated card dangling from her neck, Chrissy huddles close her friend, chin resting on her shoulder as they watch event coordinators bustle around quickly. Queen was on the rise, topping charts faster than any other band Chrissy has seen. Embarking on a tour of America after this stretch of touring, Chrissy feels a sense of panic, perhaps even doom. How were they supposed to keep their semblance of a relationship together if they were an ocean away from one another? Chrissy does her best to push the intrusive thoughts away, wanting to remember their time together when he’s gone, not moments spent worrying while he was still in arms reach.

 

“Isn’t this so odd?” Chrissy’s pulled from the thoughts by the sounds of Morgan’s shouting. The band was currently doing their encore, audience eating up every second of their performance. “We’ve gone from seeing them performing at bars and schools and now they’ve sold out this entire venue two nights in a row.”

 

The pride in Morgan’s voice rises a similar feeling in Chrissy; watching this band, who has all become such good friends of her, continue to rise and become successful made her heart flutter with pride. The duo wait for what seems like an eternity before the band makes it way off stage, grabbing towels and bottles of water. Distracting herself from Morgan’s usual obnoxious display for affection, Chrissy quietly congratulates the rest of the group, trying to embrace them all in her small arms.

 

“We’ve gotta get packed up here, but you should come out with us.” Roger’s voice is a shout in her ear; though the sounds of the audience has lowered to a low road, Chrissy can only imagine how deafening it is to produce such powerful drumming for hours every night. “You’re the best of us whenever we’re out.”

 

“I dunno. Maybe not tonight.” Chrissy gives a little shrug, fingers sympathetically squeezing the drummer’s tone shoulder. “— I technically wasn’t even supposed to come to this, but I was tricked.”

 

Not entirely true; Chrissy wanted to come and was glad she had done so, but she wanted nothing more than to steal a few moments with Brian - it would be half the night before he could get away from Morgan, before he wasn’t as wired as he could be after a show. As she’s whisked away, from one part of the venue to another, she can’t help the burning sensation of jealousy rippling through her veins. Her mind taunts her, plaguing her with thoughts of how Morgan and Brian were spending their time together. A good friend would have ended the affair before it began, would have shut down Brian’s advances to protect the feelings of her friend, and their friendship. As her blood continues to steam, however, Chrissy can’t help but feel _incredibly_ selfish; she wanted Brian to herself. Jealousy blinds her thoughts as the night drags on, faces and places blurring into one green haze. What was the point of being out if she had to be alone? One might think the presence of the rest of the band would diminish thoughts of loneliness, but each adrift in their own world, Chrissy has nothing but her lonesome thoughts.

 

Night dies, bleeding into the wee hours of the morning; Chrissy is fairly sure its at least 2:30 when she carts the drunken men into Freddie’s flat, leaving them to their devices as she shuffles into the kitchen. Painfully sober and fully annoyed, the brunette quietly shuffles about the kitchen, looking for _anything_ to sate her. Tension melts after two very full glasses of brandy, the bronze liquid bringing a warm, heavy feeling to her limbs.  A hush falls over the flat and for the countless time that evening, Chrissy feels like she’d be crushed by her own thoughts. Groaning inwardly, she fixes herself another drink before pulling herself up onto the kitchen counter, heels quietly bumping against the cabinets below. She hardly realizes she has company until slender legs are right in front of her own. Normally, she would be elated to finally have a moment alone with Brian, but after the night she had? She can’t exactly be sure. Despite her own conflicting feelings, knees part so he might step closer; Chrissy abandons her drink only in favor of twining her arms around his hips.

 

“I can’t sleep.”

 

“Odd,” Chrissy muses, lips pulled in a taut smile as she rolls her head back to meet his gaze. “-- if the concert hadn’t worn you out, I’m sure Morgan would have.” Humor is short lived when Chrissy realizes her statement was only amusing to her; she has to bite back a laugh when she sees the look of seriousness on Brian’s face.

 

“That was funny and you know it,” she jeers, nose wrinkling as she finally caves. Perhaps she should be taking the situation seriously, but alcohol has loosened her up significantly. “— don’t be a brat about it.”

 

“That wasn’t exactly funny, Chrissy; I’m not being any sort of way about it.”

 

Though the kitchen was only illuminated by the single lightbulb over the stove, Chrissy takes a moment to observe Brian, blue eyes curiously peering into hazel, looking for the soul Chrissy wasn’t exactly sure he had at the moment. She even contemplates her own for a moment; what was she _doing_ here with this man? What even was the point in allowing herself to love someone who couldn’t be hers - couldn’t stay faithful to the one he supposedly loved? Was this the kind of person she had become? Nails against her scalp happily distract her from her thoughts, drawing a quiet moan from deep in her chest.

 

“If you like me so much, why don’t you leave Morgan?”

 

The loaded question is out of her mouth before she can stop it, and Chrissy swears she can feel Brian’s muscles tense beneath now trembling fingers. It’s been on her mind for weeks now - she feels as if she deserves an answer. His lack of response, however, is a clear sign that she isn’t going to get one.

 

His lips are soft on her neck, warm and inviting as they slowly walk the curve of her jaw. Arms twine around surprisingly defined shoulders - for being so tall and skinny, there were surprising amounts of toned sinew throughout. His body against her own, heartbeat a gentle murmur against his own; the natural harmony they shared was true, and despite the circumstances, Chrissy knew she couldn’t be without it.

 

“How I feel around you, Chrissy— I’ve never felt with anyone else.” His voice is against her ear, skin prickling with arousal as hands roam over the tops of her thighs. His words were sweet like honey- thick and heavy against her ear as she dissolved further into his body. “I wish I could make sense of it all, I truly do, but it’s all—”

 

Chrissy’s eyebrows knit as his lips leave her skin, a rush of cool air soothing scorched skin. As they stand in silence, searching for answers in the dimly lit kitchen, a feeling Chrissy’s never felt squeezes at her heart. She loves him, and though words aren’t spoken and exchanged glances are just that, glances, she feels that, maybe, the capacity to love her is there too.

 

Arms extend, pulling his body back against her own with a small sigh, followed by an inaudible moan as calloused fingertips skirt her thighs, sliding beneath the hem of her dress. She wanted this, wanted him, but this was a threshold she wasn’t sure she could cross with Brian, not just yet. When she gives herself to him, becoming one in the most intimate of ways, what would that mean for them? Chrissy already struggled with the fact that he was shared, but having to share him in that way? It wasn’t something she’d even thought about, let alone knew if she could handle.

 

“Brian—” she’s trying to cut him off, but pleasure coils around her spine; her hips lift, the scratch of cotton against her thighs lulling another moan from her throat. Her body wants to take him, cradling him between her thighs in the highest peaks of passion.

 

Just not tonight.

 

“I’m sorry.” Staggering to her feet, Chrissy carefully collects her panties from their dangling position on her ankle; she’s ignoring the very confused look on Brian’s face, and the very obvious erection in his pants. Sighing, the brunette pulls her hair off her shoulders before giving the guitarist’s wrists an empathetic squeeze.

 

“I don’t wanna seem like I’m leading you on; I want to do this but,” she trails, one shoulder shrugging. “It has to be when I’m ready.” Fearing his response, Chrissy avoids his gaze, but relief is swift when arms fold around her shoulders.

 

“You don’t have to apologize, and you don’t have to explain.” Words are soft, spoken against the top of her head. “Your comfort is what matters most to me.”

 

Lips press to the top of her head before he makes his way to the skin, fixing himself a small glass of water; Chrissy was almost awestruck at the way he could make something so simple look so beautiful. Flashing an impish grin, Chrissy waggles her fingers, hoping that when these urges rose again, they would be in a better space.

 

“Goodnight, Chrissy.”

 

“Night, Brian.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all! it...me again. with a little spy sea action for you guys ;) ( honestly if you remember the first edition of this and the fact it literally made zero sense when they finally hooked up, you deserve a veterans discount. ) i... don't really know how to end smut so... excuse how weird the end of this chapter probably looks. comments and kudos feed my children and my drive to write so... pls give. and enjoy, of course!
> 
> also... not to shamelessly self promote, me and anneke (newsoftheworld) are FINALLY doing our collab! so... stay tuned for all that action!

**12:25 AM**

**CHRISTMAS DAY, 1974**

**SOUTH LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM**

 

***

 

The holiday season always proved to be dreadfully lonely for Chrissy. Morgan always went home to see her parents, normally not returning until well after the New Year, which always left Chrissy by herself. Normally she wouldn’t mind being alone on Christmas, but it taxed her more this year, her heart in so many directions as it was. Distracting herself from worrisome thoughts, Chrissy spends the first few hours of Christmas putting up the final few decorations around the flat— carefully stringing fairy lights around the bannister that lead upstairs, adorning the end table near the front door with poinsettias, ensuring the tree was watered; it’s almost half past midnight when Chrissy finally takes a moment to rest, her traditional Christmas morning cookies almost ready to come out of the oven. The sounds of  _ The Christmas Song _ soothe her tired bones, rich tenor and baritones of Nat King Cole’s voice filling her tiny living room. Blue eyes cast a sad glance to the gifts beneath the tree, pink and purple colored wrapping paper shimmering beneath the Christmas tree. There they would sit, addressed to Morgan, until the first of the year, possibly later - a very normal routine for them at this point. The shrill cry of the timer in her lap brings a smile to her face; her cookies were finished. Rounding the couch into the kitchen, mitted hands careful retrieve the various shaped sugar cookies, now a beautiful golden color, spread across the flat tray. Immediately peeling one from the sheet, Chrissy winces as it scalds her palms and mouth once she finally bites into it, sugary goodness settling across her taste buds. Reflections of childhood Christmas’ flood her head as she indulges in the first cookie, still hot as she switches it from one hand to the other. She has just enough time to brush the crumbs from her hands and pour half a glass of milk when a knock at the door distracts her.  _ Who  _ was at her door at this hour, and more importantly,  _ why?  _ Chrissy stands frozen in her kitchen for a moment, laboring over the last little bit of cookie in her mouth before apprehensively making her way to the front door, eyebrows raising as the knocking continues. 

 

Hopefully, this wouldn’t end in her untimely demise.

 

Festively painted nails close around the doorknob, other hand disengaging the lock before turning the cold copper and opening the door. Concern melts to relief when she’s greeted with the sign of a very cold Brian. Snowflakes dust his hair and eyelashes, wind bitten lips pulled into an affectionate smile; he looked like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting and Chrissy can’t help the goofy smile that forms on her face.

 

“Merry Christmas, Chrissy. Do… You mind if I come in? It’s terribly cold out here.”

 

Standing aside, Chrissy allows for the guitarist to come in, shivering as the bitter winter air blows past as she shuts the door. She watches, both intently and a bit confused, as Brian discards his jacket, scarf and boots, artfully juggling the boxes in his arms.  _ He didn’t.  _

 

“Here,” Chrissy finally murmurs, hanging his jacket and scarf before gesturing for him to take a seat on the couch. Returning to the kitchen, she carefully transfers the much cooler cookies onto a plate, one glass of milk becoming two as she departs to the living room.

 

“It’s a bit silly, but as my guest, you have to have Christmas cookies with me.” Chrissy places the plate and both glasses on the coffee table in front of them, giving an expectant glance from Brian to the plate and back again. Satisfaction is immediate when he bites into a pine tree shaped cookie, chewing thoughtfully  before giving a nod of approval. They sit like that for a while, each occasionally grabbing a cookie before Brian finally addresses the boxes in his lap.

 

“You’re gonna tell me I shouldn’t have, and maybe not,” he explains, fingers tapping against the larger of the boxes. “— but I had to get you something nice. Somethings, I should say.” Without further explanation, a hand extends the smallest of the boxes. It’s wrapped in simple red foil, artfully decorated with a crudely tied bow. Chrissy’s mouth opens to speak, eyes stinging with the threat of tears. Blinking them away as best she can, she carefully plucks the bow loose and gently sheds the wrapping. The box is long, slender and nondescript;  Chrissy wasn’t sure what was in it or where it came from. Blue eyes meet hazel; Brian’s tucked a hand under his chin, eyebrows lifted on his forehead in anticipation. Not wanting to prolong it further, Chrissy carefully shimmies the bottom half of the box from the top, placing the top on the couch beside her. Resting on a thick sheet of white padding was a simple gold chain, a ‘B’ pendant in script in the middle. 

 

“B as in… Brian?”

 

“Oh, you think it’s silly, don’t you?” A pause. “I shouldn’t have gotten it. I had second doubts going to pick it up the other day and I just knew—”

 

Scoffing, Chrissy carefully takes the necklace out of its protective padding, handing it back to Brian before turning her shoulders away from him, pulling her hair up. Chilled fingers brush over her collarbones, sending a small ripple down her spine. Chrissy carefully traces the pendant that now lay on her sternum, lips pulling in a taut smile as she clears her throat. It felt … Oddly official, and Chrissy wasn’t exactly sure if he was ready to commit to just her. Nevertheless, she basks in the knowledge that Brian even thought to get her a gift, let alone something so sentimental. Scooting back, Chrissy allows herself to lean into Brian, back pressed to his chest as she draws her legs up onto the couch.

 

“I love it, Brian, honestly. Though,” she trails, shrugging a shoulder. “I didn’t get you anything, so I’m kinda feeling a little bad.”

 

A chuckle leaves the guitarist as he leans forward a little, digging around in his pockets. Chrissy’s eyebrows knit, torso twisting to see what he’s searching for. White nails carefully pick apart the crumpled plant in his palm; Chrissy knows it’s mistletoe before he manages to unfold the plant and hold it over his head. Now  _ this  _ was a little cheesy, but Chrissy carefully holds his face between her palms, stretching her spine to close the space between their mouths. Kissing him always left her breathless, leaving her windpipes burning for any sign of oxygen, causing her head to spin. This was different, though; the slow way their mouths mingled, quiet gasps for breath as pleasure slowly began to mount. There was no need to rush for fear of getting caught, only having meer minutes to share with one another. For what Chrissy genuinely feels is the first time, Chrissy has Brian all to herself.

 

God knows how badly she’s waited for this.

 

Rising to her feet, Chrissy pulls her hair over one shoulder, and with an almost confident air about her, extends her hand. Seeing the clear confusion on Brian’s face, Chrissy gives a playful roll of her eyes.

 

“I’m taking you to bed, mister.”

 

The brunette immediately pulls him in the direction of the stairs, heart hammering against her rib cage. For so long, Chrissy has denied this one thing, this final step in .. whatever their relationship was. Tonight? She wanted all of him, damn the consequences.

 

Clicking on her bedroom light, Chrissy ushers Brian in before pushing the door closed behind them, pressing her frame to the door. Only in the silence does Chrissy really hear how fast her heart is beating; she wanted this, wanted him, but never has she felt so nervous about something like this before. Bare feet slide across the carpeted floor, leading the guitarist to her bed. Her bedding, yellow and decorated with sunflowers, now feels inappropriate to perform such an act in. 

 

It was now, or it was never.

 

Once he was seated, Chrissy carefully stands between his legs, guiding his hands to the hem of her tunic; a silent invitation to begin undressing her. The burn of his knuckles against her bare flesh almost causing her knees to buckle. Wandering lips are happily accepted; Chrissy knits her fingers into the dense curls at the nape of his neck, tugging his head backward to claim his lips again. She’s grateful he’s already taken the incentive to help her out of her pajama pants, and out of his own shirt. 

 

“Take your trousers off.”

 

Smugness creeps into Chrissy’s face as Brian happily obliges, fingers fumbling with his belt buckle and zipper. They both stood now, underwear and all, in silence. Though she had just felt so comfortable and confident, a wave of nervousness washes through Chrissy. She joked with friends that she was a virgin and a half; she’d had a boyfriend in her early teens and in the early explorations of sex, given a blow job or two - she’s never properly participated in the penetration aspect of sex. Not with a cock, anyways.

 

“You look scared.”

 

“I’m not.” She was.

 

Though visibly nervous, Chrissy manages to push Brian back onto the mattress, assuming a kneeling position in front of him. She could count on one hand how many times she had been in this position, but she’d be damned if she couldn’t fake it. Fingernails slowly rake over freshly exposed skin-- over the top of his hips, down over the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs before a flat palm ghosts over his erection; a satisfied grin pulls at one side of Chrissy’s mouth when Brian exhales the smallest of moans. The brunette carefully pulls the briefs down over his thighs, tugging the material down around his knees before fingers apprehensively wrap around the base of his cock. Doing her best to swallow her nerves, Chrissy stretches her spine, making herself longer, taller - more fluid; the very tip of her tongue slides over the head of his cock, doubling back to gently glide along the slit with a grace swish. The broken moan that dissipates into the thick air stirs the growing heat between Chrissy’s legs; how often she’s imagined drawing his reaction from Brian, to hear his tender cries as she works him over with her hands and mouth. Hands cradle the hindmost part of her skull, calloused fingertips bring a benevolent touch to her her scalp; Chrissy basks in the softness of his touch, only barely masking his growing desperation as hips try to buck upward. The stiff ache of her jaw spreads up into her head, discomfort melting into budding pleasure as the fingertips press into her head, pushing her further down. Chrissy sinks, contracting her mouth tightly around his length, tongue flat against the underside as the tip of her nose grazes the unruly tips of coarse pubic hair. The intrusion into the back of her throat burns, causing her eyes to swell as she retreats for air, just barely avoiding a disastrous cough.

 

“Come here, good girl.”

 

Deep crimson sears into Chrissy’s cheeks, causing her already flushed appearance to morph into embarrassing shades of red. Pulling her hair over her shoulders, Chrissy rises from her knees, legs a thousand pounds each as she takes the single step to place herself between Brian’s legs. The wetness between her legs was almost shameful at this point, and as heat from the guitarist’s mouth sweeps over the swell of her breast, Chrissy finds herself wiggling a hand into her panties, fingers graciously granting attention to her neglected clit. Restricted by the hot cotton material, the brunette groans in frustration as she tries to work her fingers around in the restrictive space. Hips shift from one side to the other, assisting in the removal of one the last articles of clothing that separated them; relief is almost instant when her hands finally free the clasp that held her bra together. Both fully nude, canvases of freckles, body hair, moles and other little  idiosyncrasies did that nagging little feeling of self consciousness snake its way up Chrissy’s spine, weaving around her ribcage to squeeze at her heart.

 

“You’re beautiful.” Words distract Chrissy from her destructive thoughts as she climbs into bed, lips pulled into a mock smirk as she falls back into her pillows.

 

“You’re only saying that because you’re about to shag me.”

 

“Maybe,” the guitarist offers with a simple shrug of his shoulder, fingertips dragging along the outside of Chrissy’s left hip as his body settled between her legs. “Or, maybe I’m saying it because it’s true; you are absolutely captivating.”

 

Doubt is quick to rear its ugly head once again, bringing a small frown to the corners of Chrissy’s mouth; she’s never been  _ captivating _ . She’s used to living as a shadow as this point, dark and gloomy in contrast to someone else’s light. TO be the center of someone’s praise and attention, for someone like  _ Brian  _ to feel as if she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen did cause Chrissy’s chest to swell with pride.

 

Taking his time to mind and observe little detail he encountered, Chrissy lavished in each kiss pressed to her skin, each curious swipe of his tongue over a sensitive patch of flesh, each tantalizing exhale of cool air against her burning skin. White knuckles fumble and grasp at the bed sheets, delighted mixtures of laughter and moans dissipating into the early morning hours as teeth teasingly nibble and mark the skin on her inner thighs. Chrissy takes great pleasure in the thought of bruises left on her pale skin, physical reminders of their copulation in places only her eyes would see, places only her hands would be able to touch. In every sense of the word, she wanted to be his.

 

A stifled moans breaks free from Chrissy’s chest when tongue meets her hypersensitive clit, causing her legs to tremble and shrivel up, thighs gently squeezing the head between his head.

 

“ _ Brian _ \--” her voice is a delicate moan, pitch high in nature as she tries to navigate her hips away from the heat of his mouth. Words fog her mind; how could one overthink and have nothing on their mind all at once? Eyes twitch, blue irises giving way to white as her eyes sink backward into head, body surrendering to his touch as her thighs fall apart. It was so good--  _ too  _ good, in fact. Alarm swells in her chest as she fights to regain her voice again.

 

“Brian, I haven’t done this before.”

 

Blue eyes meet hazel, confusion mirroring one another as the guitarist props himself on his elbows, teeth carefully sucking his bottom lip into his mouth in thought. Rolling her eyes, Chrissy gives a little scoff before she continues.

 

“I  _ have,  _ I just haven’t… I never went all the way with my first boyfriend. We never--” words trail off as embarrassment settles in. The reality that this was newer to her, and that she was truly going to give him a part of herself she wouldn’t truly ever get back again brings a strange sensation.

 

“I  _ want _ to; I wasn’t telling you to stop. I was just … So you didn’t think you were--”

 

His smile is warm, empathic; the weight of his chest against hers immediately soothes the growing pressure in her chest. He says nothing at first, lips a gentle, affectionate touch against her cheeks, nose and chin.

 

“You trust me?”

 

The question is heavy, causing Chrissy’s eyebrows to knit slightly. Without hesitation, the answer was yes - so why did her tongue feel like lead? Without doubt, she would trust Brian with her very life - he held her entire heart in his hands and  _ God,  _ she hoped he would protect it.

 

“I do. I always have.”

 

A silence fills the air and Chrissy finds herself seeking out his mouth, hands sinking into his hair to anchor him close. His mouth is sweet, sugary delight in slow, languid movements of his lips and tongue. Was this the beginning of love? These inklings of sunshine, warming her skin and bones - was this what it was like to be in love? Did Brian feel the same?

 

A soft moan trickles through steamy kisses, sizzling away as hips angle themselves upward in preparation. Chrissy links her arms around his shoulders, nose pressed to the crook of his neck as he slowly begins to press into her. It’s tight, unfamiliar sensation - quite unlike fingers, and Chrissy can’t help but squirm in discomfort. Peppered kisses to her cheek and forehead soothe her as her body slowly begins to adjust.

 

“It’s okay,” Chrissy exhales quietly, linking one leg around his slender hips, locking him in place as the tense discomfort melts into a more comfortable sensation.Nails slowly track the long plains between his shoulder blades, following the perfect curve of his spine before settling in the subtle dip in his lower back. A moan stirs in Chrissy’s chest when he retracts, aligning his cock once more before slowly pressing in again, filling her completely. Discomfort is all but a memory; Chrissy soon relaxes and catches onto his pace and rhythm, pleased in the subtle way her clit dragged against his skin if she angled her hips just right. His body is divine against her own, a sacred temple she had craved to worship in for so long. Her mouth gingerly latches onto her his ear, suckling at the lobe before teeth bare to pull at the shell, returned moans against sensitive flesh of her neck causing her legs to contract around his waist. 

 

“I want to get on top.” Feeling bold, Chrissy tries her best to wiggle her body from under his in search of the new position. Sweat sheen skin cast as a soft glow, dark curls a damp mess a top his head as he carefully rolls them over. Now in control, Chrissy positions herself so she was comfortable, knees gently hugging his sides and hands placed on her shoulders. She was entirely green; she’d never done this before, but it couldn’t be too hard to figure out something that felt good. She rolls her hips, slowly thrusting them forward and dragging them backward, and repeat. Through lust hooded eyes does she try to gauge Brian’s reaction, noting the tiny hitch in his breath every time she drove her hips forward, the dreadfully light touch of his fingertips against her hips.

 

“ _ I’m not glass _ ,” comes her breathless murmur, grabbing at his wrists and pressing them to her breasts. His delicateness was something Chrissy cherished, but he  _ couldn’t  _ be this tender with other women he had been with - he  _ definitely  _ wasn’t this timid with Morgan; Chrissy didn’t want to be the exception. “Touch me,  _ please _ .” Quiet whimpers of desperation morph into satisfied moans of pleasure when skilled fingers roll her nipple, testing the waters and watching or a satisfactory response before mouth replaces fingers; Chrissy’s hips buckle awkwardly when heat closes around the bud, her own fingers squeezing Brian’s shoulders, digging tiny crescents into the skin there. Elbows bend, torso lowering to be closer to that delicious heat, hips becoming more erratic in their thrusts. When arms slide around her body, keeping her still as the guitarist claims dominance once again, Chrissy can’t help the obnoxious moan that leaves her, body caving to the barrage of skin slapping against her own. She doesn’t want it to end this quickly; she’s waited far too long to claim him this way, spent too much time imagining how it would be to finally become one with him, but as he presses into her spot, Chrissy fingers herself spreading her legs further, trying to sink further and take more of him in. Euphoria is almost instantaneous; the grandiose crescendo of orgasm, bodies tensing and pulsing, mouths locked in a sizzling tango. Bodies are limp against one another, breaths harsh and ragged against one another’s skin as pleasure slowly dissipates.

 

“Hold on.”

 

Once strength is regained, Chrissy peels herself away and tiptoes to the bathroom, retrieving two separate, but equally warmed washcloths - quickly wiping herself clean before returning to the bathroom. Feet shuffle across the carpet, back down to the hall to her bedroom; the sight she’s greeted wit bringing an impish smile to her face. An arm over his eyes, a thoroughly debauched look about him, Brian rested quietly, chest rising and falling evenly now that his heart rate had returned to normal.

 

“You asleep already, old man?”

  
“Hm? Almost.” Cheeks still flushed a rosy pink, the guitarist gives a smile as he takes the washcloth extended to him, wiping himself clean with a thoughtful hum. Chrissy can’t help but admire him, the beauty he brought to such a simple task. Discarding of the soiled cloth, Chrissy carefully burrows herself under her blanket, curling herself slightly to allow room for Brian to join. Not to bring anyone home,  _ ever _ , the bed feels exceptionally small now that she had to share it, but the lack of space allows them to be closer; Chrissy happily tucks herself against Brian’s side and intently watches the way he dozes off. She wants him to stay awake a little longer, wants to steal a few more kisses, exchange a few more knowing glances with one another; who knows when she’d have him like this again? Rather than disturb him, Chrissy intently watches the way he succumbs to slumber, the twitching of his eyelids slowing before stopping all together, his breathing and heartbeat almost in perfect synchrony. Only then, when the man she loves with her entire being is a comfortable state of peace, does Chrissy allow herself to be reminded that she would never be the one to keep him.


End file.
